


a cold winter morning

by pxrsephoneofeden



Series: Clegane-Stark family au [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Married Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Memories, Queen in the North, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-04 14:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxrsephoneofeden/pseuds/pxrsephoneofeden
Summary: a dreamy wedding in winterfell gives Sansa the warmth she needed to make it through a harsh December morning. Happy memories and family cuddles make the north a little less frigid every now and then.





	a cold winter morning

_“Are you sure about this?” Arya’s voice was unusually soft and inquisitive. Sansa sucked in a cold, clean breath and pushed the air out into the open space in front of her. The December snowflakes fell slow and tranquility in the early morning breeze, and her pale skin shivered from the draft blowing in through the open window._

_ “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” She said as Arya pulled the dress up over her breasts. Sansa held the untied garment in place, and Arya walked over to the open window and closed it, muttering a complaint about December weddings. The castle was quiet and a little too calm, Sansa suddenly wanted to run into the snow. _

_ Her eyelashes felt frozen, she was sure her hair seemed redder than it ever had before and would be even brighter outside. She stepped over to the window, gazing out at the scene in front of her, taking note how breathtaking it was. Pure white and covered in the typical northern frigid winter blanket of snow. As Arya finished lacing the back of her satiny teal dress, she smiled, thinking of how she’d always dreamed of getting married at sunrise. _

_ The heart tree’s leaves had dissipated, leaving the naked branches covered in lacy spider webs. The snow would be putty soft in the melting heat of a December dawn. The orange and pink hue of the day cast a burned filter over the world around her. She heard Jeyne’s kind voice talking about how pretty her fair skin would look first thing on a cold winter’s morning, she heard their younger, innocent voices drowning out what they believed was their boring life, and she heard Jeyne wishing her the best of luck as she prepares to walk down the aisle. _

_ She remembers sitting under that same tree she planned on saying her vows at that morning, and telling Jeyne when they were small, merrily, that she’d wear a dress the color of a pure white lily, her hair would be pleated uptight like a southern girl, and her husband would be a handsome, rich noble with a castle and knights and enough gold to buy her anything she’d ever need. _

_ Once the deep teal dress was laced, Sansa ran a hand through her loose, wavy hair, and grabbed the hand of her sister. Years after those fateful days under the tree with Jeyne, she had the castle now, and she knew in her heart that the man she was marrying would be good enough for her and she’d never need another sliver of gold to her name to be filled with joy. _

_ Arya smiled awkwardly back at her and squeezed her fingers as if to say, ‘I’m here if you need me.’ The honeysuckle aroma smacked her in the face the minute she stepped outside the manor.  _

Poet’s wild curls of fire were flown over her mother’s face in the bed. The little Clegane child was braver than either of her brothers could dream of being but was still prone to the frequent nightmare, as all young children are.

On more than one occasion, Poet would run through the narrow halls of her home and into the bedroom of her parents, her long coils of red hair flying behind her as her heart beat hard in her chest. The previous night had been one of those nights, and Sansa took notice that the nightmares were more of a common occurrence when Poet’s father was gone from their home. She found it cute her daughter looked up to her father with such security, but she worried her uncertainty whenever he’d leave the home would spiral into a fear of the outside world. This worry often allowed Sansa to liberate her daughter more opportunities to get into trouble, but then again, who in their right mind would harm the daughter of ‘The Hound’?

Poet’s hair smelled of lavender, and Sansa almost allowed herself to believe it was springtime, instead of the freezing, rugged December that Winterfell faced every year. The mother and daughter were buried under so many furs and blankets, they looked like little bear cubs shrouded in red heaps of lions mane. She rose up and looked upon her drowse daughter in her bed beside her, and let her mouth creep into a loving smile. No one adored this girl more than she did, she thought as she drifted back to sleep, watching Poet’s breath in her chest move up and down rhythmically.

_ The teal stood out against the fresh snow beautifully. The wind reeked unseasonably reminiscent of honeysuckle, and she felt a tingling wonder if she were in a timeless dream, and not her own life. She felt her waves of ruby hair surging behind her, and her heartbeat was fast and pounding. She didn’t even feel skittish as she walked down the aisle of people alone, looking straightforward at her future husband, and wondering what shocked exclamation Jeyne would’ve said had she been there. _

_ ‘Nothing like we imagined.’ She wanted to say, had her friend still been alive. ‘But somehow better…’ A single snowflake fell onto her nose as she reached her final destination. Her promised chuckled at her, watching it disintegrate into nothing on her porcelain face. _

_ The wind lulled. Sansa stilled. Winterfell fell silent for what everyone prayed to be the adored lady of the North’s last trip down the aisle, at 23. _

The peaceful morning of the wardeness and her daughter was interrupted quickly by a sudden knock at the bedroom door. Poet jumped up immediately, and defensively. Sansa pressed a hand flat to her back to stop her from leaving the mountain of warmth they’d created.

“Come in!” She yelled, bothered, and groggy. She felt strands of hair sticking up all around her head, her dressing gown was sheer and left little to the imagination, and her daughter resembled more of wildling child than a future lady of Winterfell at the moment, but she was too out of her senses to care.

Thankfully, the person barging into her room was very, very welcome. Sansa flushed and tucked a lock behind her ear when she saw who had entered.

“Father!” Poet said excitedly as she pounced her stubby legs off of the bed.

_ She couldn’t even feel her mouth saying the words, but sure enough they’re leaving her lips. _

_ “I take this man, as my Husband, till the day I shall die.” _

_ Her voice is wistful. Her crystal blue eyes stare hypnotically into his ember ones. He clears his throat, gruffly mutters out his end of the vows, and shields her in a pristine silver cloak. The crowd claps and before she can think to wipe the goofy smile she has plastered on her face off, she’s being hoisted up by her husband and carried off away from the crowd. She’s giggling like she’ll never have a moment like this again. She smells that sweet, lingering scent of honeysuckle in the air once more. She can see Arya in the distance chuckling at the couple as they enter the manor of Winterfell again, leading a pack of entranced Northmen who can’t believe what they just witnessed. _

_ Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North.  _

_ Married Sandor Clegane. _

_ On her own free will. _

“Father! how was your trip to the wall?!” Poet jumped up and down, her missing front tooth popping out humorously as she spoke.

“It went as good as it could’ve, I guess.” He said, never one to sugar coat anything, even to his kids.

“Did you murder anyone!?” She said a little concerningly happy.

“Poet Clegane!” Sansa snapped at her, Poet turned around and mumbled an apology, but looked back at Sandor expecting an answer. He laughed and shook his head no.

Poet sighed and Sansa made a mental note to keep an eye on that one around small animals. 

_ The great hall was packed, men and women from all different houses crowded in one area. Sansa’s senses were overwhelmed, the only similarity this day had to her other wedding was her aversion to the reception hoard. Sandor seemed just as impatient about the overload of people and gripped her hand tightly. It seemed like it was meant to comfort him, but it was soothing to her nonetheless to know he was with her in this alien state of limelight. _

_ Many men, many lords, and many ladies took their time congratulating the newlyweds, either fake or confused, Sansa wanted to laugh at the amount of bad acting she saw. Guiltily she knew her new husband’s pride was bruised by the number of dissatisfied faces the second they were made man and wife, but she planned on proving to him how little she cared about their opinions later than night… _

_ Tyrion Lannister gifted the couple enough booze to last a lifetime, and Sandor joked he must’ve drank half of it before he even arrived, as he’d slurred nearly every word in his unplanned speech around halfway through the day. The hand of the king of the seven kingdoms nearly injured a sum of twenty people by opening a champagne bottle with a little too much force. He was quite literally carried out of the reception by ‘The Hound’ himself, to no one’s shock. _

_ Right before he left to return to King's Landing, Bran asked to speak to Sansa away from the crowd, and the two shared a long conversation about how they’d gotten to this point, and even though he’d sworn never to tell her, her own fate, he whispered that he’d seen her, much older, caressing the burning auburn mane of a little girl two sizes too small to fit in with her tall family as she held a newborn close to her chest. Two older boys wrestled in the front yard that reminded him of Jon and Theon, and a broad, dark-haired young woman laughed endearingly alongside her father as they watched them. Sansa laughed at the thought of even having a single baby in the first place, taking a long sip of her robust, Lannister wine, and looking down at her wedding band. _

  
  


Sandor bent down to pick his daughter up, lifting her up onto his shoulders and smiling as she giggled with her small, pitched voice. Sansa threw the covers from her body and scurried over to embrace her husband.

“I’ve missed you. More than usual.” She practically whispered. She pulled away and their eyes met. A knowing look spread upon his face. He put Poet down and told her to wake her siblings, and alert them of his arrival. Once the small ginger left the room, he shut the door behind her, reaching out to caress his wife’s cheek.

“I think I might have an answer as to why you’ve felt like that.” He was a little too swaggering in his tone for her taste, but she didn’t even care to scoff.

“Am I not allowed to miss my husband, Sandor? I know you must leave a lot but this time was just… different.” She shook her head. She really hadn’t known what got into her. She felt bored in all of her meetings, she had to motivation to open letters or send ravens, all she really wanted was to watch the sunrise and the snow fall onto the hard, frozen ground until she saw him on his horse riding towards the gates of the city.

“Sansa. Have you taken a look outside lately? Breathed the air? Taken a walk?” He stepped toward the closed window of the bedroom, lifting it up and letting the chilly air infiltrate the warm room. She shivered as the breeze blew through here thin dressing gown.

“Not recently. Too cold.” She fiddled with her wedding band and moved to close the window again, taking note he was much more covered up than her, still in full armor. He wrapped a hand around her waist before she reached the window and pressed her back to his chest.

“Sansa. Take a moment.” He said. She listened, hesitantly. That feeling of nostalgia and content she’d had since he’d been gone hit her again. The comforting smell of honeysuckle, the delicate tingle of melting snow. She was so freezing her arms and legs were bumpy but now all she wanted was to be outside. It hit her like a zap of lightning.

“The day before our wedding-“ She started.

“- Arya tied honeysuckle all around the city because somehow, it’d been the only flower to survive that winter and she wanted you to have the pretty, flowery wedding you and your friend always talked about.”

Sansa’s cheeks felt hot. She turned back around, stood on her tiptoes and planted her lips onto his. He wrapped his arms around her tiny body and picked her up off the ground, she made a surprised noise, but they didn’t break away for a few seconds more. When he put her back on the ground, he quickly pecked her forehead and she murmured.

“Happy anniversary.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
